Finding out we are pregnant is this huge shock. All right, look, I admit we lost track of cycles, and I refuse to wear a condom. The woman is so damn delicious that I want every part of her—bareback.
But finding out I’ll soon be a dad gives me this sense of hope. I miss my dad terribly, and in many ways, the Lord has blessed us with not only one but two miracle babies.
In ways, and not admitting it has affected me, I purposely keep myself busy at the hospital. Being a surgeon means long hours most days, but every few days, I just stay back and catch up on paperwork.
Leaving Zoey to spend the night working on a design she has to pitch this week, I have a good thirty minutes to spare before prepping for an aortic valve replacement.
Our break room is just right of the main desk, it’s small and can only fit four of us comfortably. Doctors, nurses, and other staff generally hang out here for a quick break before prepping.
“Drew, sweetheart, you’ve got to let her process this longer.” Dorothy, our oldest and most senior nurse, dips her cookie into her tea before taking a nibble. “Lord knows I was a hormonal mess with my first pregnancy. My husband would hide away in his shed and tinker with his cars to avoid me.”
“But you went on to have six more kids,” I point out.
“Because you forget everything. You forget the morning sickness, the aching back, the horrendous births and remember that soft bundle of joy in your arms falling asleep so peacefully.”
“Zoey said this is it for kids. She wants me to get the snip.”
Dorothy laughs, relaxing her shoulders moments later. “That’s what all pregnant women say. Trust me, it’ll pass. Just let her be. Whatever she needs, give it to her.”
I don’t want to admit that it’s half the battle. I want to help her, but she will never let me. Apparently, I’m treating her like an invalid. And the worst part is, she looks so sexy with that pregnancy glow on her skin. Her tits have become fuller, and her stomach has popped out but nothing too noticeable. I want to make love to her for countless hours, but she complains about being tired, being sick, and calling me a selfish asshole.
“You make it sound simple.”
Dorothy pushes her chair back, tidying the small round table, and stopping momentarily to pat my shoulder. “Happy wife, happy life,” she humors me. “Words to live by.”
***
The twenty-fourth hour has officially clicked over.
The surgery took longer than expected with a few complications which extended the time needed. By the end of it, the patient’s doing well, and my shift is well over so I head home.
Removing the keys from my gym bag and inserting them into the door, the stupid lock plays stubborn and refuses to open. The door swings wide open, my body falling forward and almost crashing into Zoey.
“Yay, you’re home,” she exclaims, a smile gracing her refreshed face.
Pulling the key out of the lock, I close the door behind me as Zoey retrieves my gym bag and places it on the floor before heading into the living room. She knows I prefer a clean and organized home which means the gym bag goes in the hall closet, not on the floor.
“Come, come.” Zoey motions for me to move quicker, and with my feet feeling like dead weight from the hours of standing on them, I can’t move any faster.
“Ta-da!”
The room is spotless. Books which are normally scattered on the coffee table are placed on top of each other with a small wicker basket beside them and something floral sitting inside.
The cushions are positioned perfectly, Zoey’s favorite Friends Central Perk pillow in front. Upon examining the television unit, the shelves and surfaces are dust-free. There’s even a candle burning on the side table expelling an apple-cinnamon scent.
“You cleaned,” I mouth, stunned.
“I didn’t just clean. I cleaned, cleaned,” she sings, proudly. “Did you know that over one hundred thousand dust mites can live in a single square yard of carpet?”
“Um, yes… but, babe… this is very unlike you to clean.”
She nods in agreement motioning for me to sit when all I want to do is shower. I decide to sit, listen, and remember Dorothy’s wise words.
Zoey sits beside me resting on her knees while hugging a cushion. “So last night, I was forming a pity party and watching Baby Boom. Have you ever seen that movie?”
Great—another old movie. I shake my head continuing to listen while praying I don’t fall asleep during her story. I have done this countless times. The woman can talk forever about the most mundane things like why was Rose so selfish in the Titanic movie. The piece of wood could have fit both of them. That conversation I actually fell asleep through which caused a big argument regarding my lack of communication.
“Right, so Diane Keaton is this thriving career w